


Home is Where the Heart Is

by Rumaan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, Family, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Heartwarming, Stark Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:05:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumaan/pseuds/Rumaan
Summary: Knowledge falls into the right hands and the destiny of House Stark changes.





	1. Arya

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeeno2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeeno2/gifts).



> Written as a fic for charitable donations for the lovely @jeeno2, who requested fluffy Stark family feels. So I went with a Fix it fic for canon ASOIAF and lots of Stark family reunions because I know what I'm about.

Arya’s nerves jangled as she looked out over the Red Fork of the Trident. Riverrun lay in the near distance and she couldn’t help the tears that welled up in her eyes as she saw the banners of House Tully and House Stark flying in the distance.

“You made it,” Gendry said to her left.

“We made it.”

He scuffed his toe in the dirt. “Yeah, about that. I was thinking of heading up the Kingsroad. You know, joining the Night’s Watch or something.” She looked at him incredulously. “What? It’s not as if there’s anywhere else for me to go.”

Arya elbowed him hard in the gut. “You’re stupid!” she exclaimed, anger coursing through her. “My brother would give you a position.”

“Your brother is a king.”

“So?”

“Kings don’t concern themselves in the affairs of lowborn bastards from Flea Bottom.”

A tear spilled over and fell down her cheek. Arya dashed it away, angry that she was actually crying, but Gendry still saw it anyway and shuffled uncomfortably next to her.

“Just escort me the last couple of miles,” she pleaded. “At least let my brother give you some provisions and a horse.” He eyed her sceptically and she became annoyed. “We’re Starks. We honour those who help us, no matter where they were born.”

“Fine. I’ll come to Riverrun. Just for a few hours. Make sure you make it all the way back to your family.”

She scoffed at his tone, but left it at that. She knew Robb would want to reward him. Well, she hoped he would. The jangling nerves that had plagued her every time she thought of being reunited with her lady mother and brother lay heavy in her stomach. What if neither were happy to see her. She touched her short hair and looked down at her dirty ragged clothes self-consciously. She had been on the road for many moons and she looked like it. She did not look like Arya of House Stark. What if they turned her away?

However, the burning need to get back to her family, to some kind of normalcy, drove her on. _The lone wolf dies but the pack survives._ Her father’s words rang in her head. Straightening her shoulders, she set off towards Riverrun.

\-----------

The Guards took one look at them both and guffawed when they requested to see The King in the North.

“And what do two dirty street rats like you want with the likes of him?” one asked.

Arya wanted to stamp her foot and tell them that she was Princess Arya, but she knew that she had nothing to prove this. “I have important information for the King,” she said.

Jaqen H’ghar had passed to her a bundle of letters with the old iron coin. He’d told her the coin was for if she ever found herself in need of gaining passage to Braavos, but that the packet of letters was for her return to her family. She had seen the rampaging lion in the crimson wax and the addressee and had understood that he had given her something of real value for her family.

“I have important correspondence for him.”

The guards gawped at her claims but she put all of the command she had heard from her father into her voice. One of the guards called for their officer to be called.

“She could be a spy,” the other one said. “We should send her away.”

“But she might not be,” the first one argued.

Arya wanted to pull her hair out and enquire just what her brother had done to deserve two such stupid people in his army, but she was saved any further frustration by the appearance of a tall lady wearing the sigil of a bear.

_A Mormont of Bear Island_ , she thought.

The Mormont observed her carefully for a long moment before she said, “Let them in.”

“Yes, milady,” the first guard said.

“Princess Arya. I am Dacey Mormont, a member of your brother’s personal guard,” Dacey said once they were inside Riverrun and walking towards the Keep. Gendry was mute by her side.

“You know who I am?” Arya said, her mouth open.

“You have the look of the Starks,” the Mormont said with a hint of a smile. “Besides, the King has been expecting you.”

Arya didn’t have time to ask any more questions as Dacey Mormont had led her into the Great Hall. Her heart pounded as she saw the sunlight glinting off a crown that sat atop auburn hair at the far end of the long room. It was Robb. She was finally here with a family member after so long. A large wolf stood on either side of him and Arya faltered a little. This was not the big brother she had last seen in Winterfell. There were no soft snowflakes melting in the hair of a boy on the cusp of manhood. This was a man grown and hardened by warfare. She felt rather than saw Gendry drop away as she hesitated a little in her walk towards where he sat.

Then her eyes skittered to the side and a soft gasp escaped her mouth, “Nymeria?”

Her wolf padded towards her, huge now and Ayra ran towards her, dropped to her knees, and buried herself in her fur. “Nymeria, you’re here!”

A warm hand settled on her shoulder and she looked up into the brilliant blue eyes of her older brother. “Robb!” she exclaimed and the tears that had filled her eyes spilled down her cheeks.

Robb pulled her up into a massive bear hug and any doubts that had plagued her about her welcome dissipated in his warm embrace.

There was a skittering of feet on stone and both brother and sister turned towards the door and there, framed in the light, looking much older and careworn than Arya remembered, was her lady mother.

Lady Catelyn gave a shriek and with a speed she did not think her mother possessed ran over to where they stood and pulled Arya into her arms.

“My girl,” she whispered into her hair and tears trickled down Arya’s face at the familiar scent of her mother and the warmth of her embrace. “My precious girl. I thought you were lost.”

\----------

“Where did you come by this information?” Robb asked, looking at the letters in his hand incredulously.

“A Faceless Man gave them to me,” Arya said, nibbling on a hunk of bread. The remnants of a large meal lay in front of her and her stomach felt distended by how much she had managed to cram into it.

“Mother’s mercy,” Catelyn gasped out.

“It’s true,” she said a little defensively. “You can ask Gendry if you don’t believe me.”

“The boy you came with?” her lady mother asked. “Where did you meet him?”

“He was in the group Yoren was taking back to the Wall.”

Catelyn and Robb shared a look that she did not quite understand. “What?”

“And he’s a bastard from Flea Bottom?” her mother asked.

“Yes. He was training to be a blacksmith when his master decided that he didn’t want him anymore,” Arya stated before turning to Robb, a kernel of unease making the food sit heavily in her stomach. “You can find a position for him, right? He helped me and we should reward him for that.”

Her older brother ruffled her hair and his bright smile came out. “Of course. He shall be rewarded for his service to you. A position in my household or monies to help him set up elsewhere should he wish.”

Arya let out the breath she had been holding, unsure just what to make of this man who had her brother’s face but led armies of his own, but this was the response she had been expecting from him and she was glad that he had not changed too much.

“The correspondence is helpful?” she asked.

Anger crossed her brother’s face for a moment. “You have helped more than you could possibly know. I can move against a treachery now that would have cost our house everything. And if I could find this man who gave it to you, I would reward him, too.”

“I would not recognise him even if he were to pass me by outside this chamber. He changed his face like magic,” she replied in awe.

Her mother smiled and smoothed her short and now clean hair back from her brow. “You must have made an impression, my child. He has given you a gift with which your brother may win this war.”

Arya ducked her head, pleased with the praise. She had contributed help of significant value to her brother with those letters between Lord Tywin and Lord Roose and her mother had not stopped petting and cosseting her. All her fears that she would not be welcomed back into the arms of her family were soothed away and for the first time in many moons she felt safe and loved.


	2. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's life remains in the balance as her brother's army arrive at the gates of King's Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: this story jumps around a little. It's probably best to think of it as a series of interconnecting ficlets that deal with each individual Stark reunion. Therefore, there are time jumps and I gloss over political and military scenarios as the focus on this fic is getting House Stark back together and writing this out as a comprehensive story that took in all the scenarios necessary to get House Stark back together would need a lot more than 6 chapters of around 1k word count each!

As Queen Cersei rounded up the ladies of the court for yet another siege on King’s Landing, Sansa walked towards the Queen’s Ballroom with both hope and dread in her heart. This time, it was not Stannis who laid siege but her brother, whom she had pinned so many hopes of a rescue on. The anticipation that it would be Robb who held court in the Throne Room tomorrow fizzed through her bloodstream but the very real fear that she would not be alive to see him twisted her stomach into a hard knot.

Meryn Trant stalked closely behind her as he had for days now. His hand was always menacingly laid on his sword and she was under no illusion as to what her fate would be should her brother breach the walls of Red Keep.  She was constantly watching him out of the corner of her eyes, sure that the death blow would come from him. Now was no exception. Her shoulders were tense with the unceasing strain of being alert at all times as she kept her eye on the closest Kingsguard to her. Then, suddenly, Lollys Stokeworth stumbled and tripped, grabbing hold of Trant’s cape and pulling them both down in a pile of armour and fabric. Trant swore profusely but Sansa was not given time to turn to look more closely before a small hand grasped hers and yanked her down a quiet, dimly lit service corridor.

“Quick, my lady, and quietly,” a soft spoken voice with an accent somewhere from Essos said in her ear.

Hope that this was a rescue caused her limbs to become light as they flitted through dark, narrow corridors to an unknown destination.

Soon, she was in front of a small, non-descript door. “In here, my lady,” the Essosi said to her.

However, Sansa hesitated. What if this was yet another prison, one that took her out of the hands of the Lannisters but still away from her brother.

“Quick, my lady. We have no time to waste. Whoever can be spared will be looking for you.”

Fear continued to paralyse her and she could not move despite the constant urging of her companion. Then the howl of a wolf rent the sky, followed by another and another and another.

_I am a Stark. Yes, I can be brave,_ she thought and with a shake of her head, she entered the small room.

“Now we stay here and wait for your brother to win.”

Sansa looked at the person who had rescued her for the first time. She was a small, petite girl with large eyes and black hair. She was beautiful and wore a gown slightly too flashy to be that of a maidservant.

“Who are you?” Sansa asked.

“Shae, my lady.”

“Why did you rescue me?”

“I was given a bag of jewels by Dontos Hollard to spirit you away once your brother’s army was at the gates,” she said with a fluid shrug of her shoulders. “I was meant to bring you down to the docks, where a small merchant vessel would be waiting just outside the harbour.”

Eyebrows furrowed, Sansa asked, “But you didn’t do that?”

“No,” Shae said with an impish grin. “I did not trust Hollard or the man I suspect is behind him. Why take you out of the city when your family is at the gates? So I took the jewels and made plans of my own.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you care what becomes of me?”

A shadow passed over Shae’s face. “I know what it is like to be helpless and in the power of men who mean you ill. I would not like to see that happen to you.”

“Thank you,” Sansa said with a tremulous smile. “I will make sure you are rewarded with more than a bag of jewels for your work today.”

\-----------

Hours passed and the room grew dark. They did not dare light a candle, scared that it would draw unwanted attention to their location. The sounds of battle grew ever closer and every time a wolf howled, hope would ease the gnawing knot of worry in the pit of her stomach. Robb could do this. He could defeat the Lannisters and then they could all go home.

She was dozing on Shae’s shoulder when the other girl jostled her awake. “There seems to be a lull,” Shae said.

Both girls sat huddled together, unsure of what to do now. They could leave the room, but rampaging soldiers who had just breached a city or defended it’s walls were not to be trusted. They would be high on victory and any woman was fair game in those circumstances. It would make sense to send Shae out to find what was happening, but Sansa could not expose the girl who had rescued her to such a danger.

Sansa could do nothing but sit, tense and petrified in the dark. It was not lost on her just how pivotal this moment was. When she left here, it would be either as the sister of a defeated brother or as the eldest daughter of a victorious House Stark. She whispered prayer after prayer under her breath

Then the noise of clattering reached their ears. It was not the sound of soldiers in armour but something she had not heard for ages. It brought back memories of Winterfell and being with her brothers and sister and laughing as their pups skittered over the stone flagstones of her home. Reaching down into the empty space where Lady would have been had the Queen not ordered her death, Sansa fingers clutched the thin air and pretended that she could feel the soft fur of her wolf.

Shae let out a shriek as two pairs of gleaming eyes appeared in the doorway but Sansa’s eyes filled with tears as hope filled her chest, expanding it painfully as she breathed in a shuddering breath and let out a joyful laugh. Jumping up from the bed, she groped her way through the dark towards those shining eyes that were beacons of victory for her. Her house’s sigil come to life to bring her out of the darkness and back to her family.

“Do not fear, Shae,” she said joyfully. “These are direwolves. My brother has won.”

“You are sure, my lady?” Shae asked, her voice trembling with fear.

“Yes,” she said, reaching out her hand for the shaking fingers of her rescuer to grasp onto. “They will not harm you whilst I am here.”

The two wolves nuzzled into her free hand. Sansa was sure one was Grey Wind, but she was unsure as to which the other would be. One of her other siblings was with Robb and hope leapt in her heart that somehow Arya was alive. Her sister who had disappeared when her father had been arrested and his guard slaughtered.

Her tentative hope was confirmed when they reached a lit corridor and she could see that it _was_ Nymeria with Grey Wind. With a sob, she let go of Shae’s hand and knelt down and pushed her face into Nymeria’s fur and whispered a prayer of thanks that her sister was alive.

“Princess Sansa?”

She lifted her head and turned at the question. A grin broke out on her face at the tall, imposing figure of Smalljon Umber.

“Lord Umber,” she said happily. “I am so pleased to see you.”

“And I you, Your Highness. We have been scouring the Holdfast looking for you. Cersei Lannister swore that you had disappeared as the battle commenced, but King Robb could not be sure that she had not killed you and stowed your body away.”

“She may well have done,” Sansa replied with a shiver, but grasped Shae’s hand and pulled her forward. “Had it not been for this brave lady from Lorath that surely would have been my fate.”

Smalljon bowed his head towards Shae in acknowledgement of her actions and said, “His Grace will be most pleased to see you, Princess Sansa. Let me take you to him.”

“Are my lady mother and my sister with him?” she asked eagerly.

“They are.”

With Smalljon leading the way and the two wolves flanking her, it was a quick journey to Throne Room. Everywhere Sansa looked, she could see men sporting Northern or Riverland sigils and the relief to be surrounded by her own people once more overwhelmed her and she clung to Shae’s hand, needing its reassuring touch to ground her in the moment. This was no dream. Robb was really here. He had taken King’s Landing and she was a prisoner no more.

The doors to the Throne Room were flung open and Smalljon announced her presence in a stentorian tone. As she stepped around his large figure, she looked towards the Iron Throne. Robb did not sit on it, but instead on a chair at its base. He was sterner than she remembered. Less of her boyish older brother who would indulge her in games of knights and ladies and more a man grown. His face also had the stern look of Father’s whenever he was hosting his bannerman. For all his Tully colouring, his Stark heritage could be easily ascertained and with the iron crown on his locks and his sword placed over his lap, he looked like one of the statutes of the Kings of Winter come alive from the crypts. It was a most welcome sight.

Flanking him were her mother and sister. Lady Catelyn Stark looked older than Sansa remembered and grief lined her face. Yet there was a smile of happiness on her face and she held her arms out towards Sansa. The sight of her family after so long rendered her immobile for a moment. However, it was only a moment before she gave a cry of joy and raced across the room and into the arms of her mother.

“You’re here! You’re really here!” she repeated over and over again, hugging first her mother and then Robb. Before she was in front of Arya, who looked nervous and unsure.

There had been so much bad blood between them in the past. Sansa had always been so frustrated that Arya couldn’t be more like her, but as she looked upon her sister’s short hair and unkempt clothing, tears flowed down her cheeks. “I am so happy you are alive,” she said, pulling Arya into a tight hug and sobbing into the top of her head.

For a moment, Arya’s arms lay limp at her side and Sansa was about to pull back, afraid that mayhaps her sister was not as pleased to see her. Sansa had not been the kindest in the past and would not blame Arya should she hold a grudge. But then Arya’s skinny little arms wrapped fiercely around her and Sansa felt her wet tears on her shoulder.

Her family were here. She was safe once more.


	3. Bran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprising news reaches Bran in the North-East mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that I continue to fudge over political/military events that make this possible. I also ignore the Others and the looming War for the Dawn. Bran is not off to be Bloodraven's apprentice and magic has not reawakened (hence no dragons etc). This remains a purely indulgent Reunite The Starks fic!

The mountain clans had been welcoming, it could not be denied. However, Bran found that he chafed at his time with them. He would have preferred to travel south and to have sought shelter with House Reed and the crannogmen. Yet, that had not been possible with the number of Greyjoy men that stood between Winterfell and the Neck.

So he, Meera and Jojen had travelled into the mountains that lay to the North-East to the primitive yet fiercely loyal houses that lived there. He had sought sanctuary with House Flint, claiming kinship with them thanks to his great-grandmother, Arya Flint. However, they hadn’t needed the bond of blood to shelter him, happy to take in the Ned’s boy on his father’s reputation alone. This had caused a pang of longing for his father that had kept him awake for his first night there. Tears wetting his pillow for his father and his family, who were scattered and broken.

Two years ago, Bran would have adored staying here. It was a climber’s dream and his father had always smiled at his exploits on the walls of Winterfell, claiming that, out of all his children, Bran carried the Flint blood. Yet, now there was no sign of that similarity to his kinfolk thanks to his crippled legs. Instead of excelling and climbing the steep path that led to Peaktop Keep, he’d had to be hoisted up humiliatingly in a basket.

But atop the mountain he remained, honoured guest of the Flint Clan. Now, he had been called into the Flint’s little solar. A raven had been sent from the south, which the Flint took no time in sharing with his young Stark guest. Bran startled when Robb’s scrawl greeted his eyes. News was slow to come to the mountains, especially with no Stark in Winterfell to distribute it to the most remote regions of the North. So the last Bran had heard of Robb was that he was campaigning in the Westerlands. Therefore, he was surprised to read that Robb was rallying the banners of those forces left in the North. He was aiming to return home and had planned a campaign to converge on the Ironborn at Moat Cailin from both the south and the north.

“What say you, Young Stark?” the Flint asked.

“Summon all your fighting men,” Bran replied. “Your King needs your aid.”

A grin split the face of Torghen Flint. “Aye,” he said, departing to send messengers out across his rocky land.

Bran, however, did not lift his eyes from Robb’s letter, where it was signed Robb Stark, King in the North and Regent of the Six Kingdoms.

_Regent for who?_ Bran thought and what had become of Joffrey and the Lannisters?

Had Robb claimed victory in the South? Gained freedom for his sisters and independence for the North? It seemed that way and yet Bran did not wish to get his hopes up. They had been through so much sorrow over the past year. He dared not hope that they had come out victorious.

\-----------

Six weeks later and the Mountain Clans had marched with Bran at their helm. The Stark Direwolf had flown high above the army of the mountains and Bran had been proud to nominally lead them, when they had been the vanguard who had taken Moat Cailin and driven the Ironborn out.

Now, he sat and waited in the Gatehouse Tower, watching from the window as his brother’s army streamed north, flags waving highly in the weak autumn sun. House Stark had returned home. News of Robb’s march north would have reached any remnants of Theon’s forces in Winterfell and Bran had no doubt they would have already departed from the Stark castle and been on their way back to the Iron Isles.

Summer stood, his tail wagging madly as feet trod impatiently up the stairs to the room where Bran sat. The door opened and framed in the doorway was his lady mother, delight and disbelief on her face when she saw him.

“Bran!” she cried, flying across the room towards him. She sank down on the floor in front of him and clutched him to her breast. The warmth and realness of her arms caused his breath to shudder harshly. “You are alive.”

“Mother,” he said shakily. “You came back.”

Catelyn pulled back then and brushed his hair off his brow and kissed his forehead and his cheeks. “We came back.”

“All of you?” he asked, anxiety colouring his tone as he thought of his sisters’ held prisoner by the Lannisters.

More feet could be heard stomping up the stairs and Catelyn turned to the door and his gaze followed. Then his older sisters and Robb entered, out of breath and delight on their faces to see their little brother alive and well.

“All of us,” his mother said joyfully.

\----------

That night, the Starks dined _en famille_. Robb was used to hosting his bannermen alongside his family, but this was his first night back in the North and he has eschewed protocol to have a more intimate dinner with just his family. Bran could not help but be pleased.

“Now, we just need to find Rickon,” Catelyn said, her eyes sad.

Bran did not like the grief stricken look on his mother’s face and said, “He was with Osha, Mother. She will take care of him.”

“The Wildling woman?” Robb asked.

“Yes. She helped us and proved loyal.”

Robb nodded and said, “If anyone will know how to keep Rickon alive off the land, it will be her, Mother. Besides, he has Shaggydog, too. That wolf is as fierce as they come.”

Lady Catelyn gave them all a brief smile but Bran could see that their words had not chased away her worry. He could understand. He worried about Rickon, too.

“As happy as I am to see you, Robb, but as regent to the Iron Throne, should you not be in King’s Landing?” Bran asked.

“Stannis arrived a day before I left,” he said. “I did not want to spend a day more than necessary there.”

“Nor I,” Sansa chimed in with a shudder.

“And King Stannis accepted the North’s secession from his kingdom?”

Arya snorted. “It’s not like he had any choice. It was thanks to Robb that he had the throne in the first place.”

Robb ruffled his little sister’s hair and said, “He wasn’t happy, no. But he does not have the men to fight me. I had to give up my claim to the Riverlands, which some of the River lords were unhappy about. But keeping hold of the Riverlands would have proved impossible. They, ultimately, were aware of this and I have forged a strong alliance with them, which includes a favourable trade agreement.”

It seemed his brother had navigated his way out of a tricky political situation to the North’s advantage and Bran could not be happier.

The North was were the Starks belonged.


	4. Rickon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon is used to everyone leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go after this!

Rickon was weary of travelling. Tired of sleeping out in the cold and in damp caves which a fire never truly warmed and there was never enough food. And the food they had was nothing filling and hearty like the beef stew Old Nan would feed him in nursery chambers at Winterfell. It was always rabbit or squirrel and fish, which was scorched and half burnt. He was sick of eating it. He wanted the pies that would fill the Great Hall with savoury aromas and the sticky sweet lemon cake that Sansa would always request. He wanted the stringy greens that his mother would insist he eat in order to grow to be as strong and healthy as his father.

But his family had all gone away. Gone and left him. Never to return.

Only Osha remained.

Osha who had been pushing them further and further north until a moon or so ago, when she had gone into a small village, one of the sparse ones that existed on borders of the Hornwood and Bolton lands. When she had come back, the grim set of her face had been lighter. An expression that he had not seen since Winterfell had been taken.

“Come, my little lord,” she’d said, putting him astride Shaggydog. “There’s been a change of plan.”

Since then, they had been moving steadily south. In the beginning, Rickon had been happy. After all, it was southwards that the majority of his family had gone.  First, it had been Father, Sansa and Arya. Then Mother had followed. Finally, Robb had journeyed south and with him went any belief Rickon had that his family would ever return.

Only Theon had come back. Theon, who had killed Rodrik Cassel and then burnt their home.

Then the sadness hit. If he went south would he, too, never return? Would Bran be left as the last Stark in the North?

So now Rickon rode wearily on. Anxious about their destination and exhausted. As he sat, swaying with tiredness on the back of Shaggydog, he wanted nothing more than to rest his head somewhere indoors again. To sleep in a proper bed. To have his family around him.

Almost falling off his wolf, Rickon lifted his head and his eyes widened at the sight that met them.

Ahead was a sea of flags and banners. Many of them familiar from the Harvest feast that Bran had hosted in the Great Hall at Winterfell. Then in the centre, waving higher than all the others was the snarling direwolf of House Stark.

“Thank the old gods!” Osha exclaimed. “The news in the village was true.”

“Is it…is it my family?” Rickon asked hesitantly and his heart leapt as Osha nodded and smiled brightly at him.

Crowds of soldiers parted and stared as he rode Shaggydog through the camp. He sat upright now as Robb and Jon had taught him to on his pony in the training yard in Winterfell.

Murmurs that it was the little prince rang round and at last, he was outside the largest tent of them all.

A man with a silver mailed fist on a scarlet clothe bowed before him. “Prince Rickon,” he said. “We are all happy to see you well and unharmed as we had feared.”

Rickon turned to look up at Osha, unsure of what was expected of him. She put her hand on his shoulder and said, “I would like to return the little lord to his brother, the King.”

The man’s eyebrows drew together at her uncouth accent and Rickon could not help but tense. Whenever people reacted like that to Osha, it usually meant a fight was brewing, However, before any unkind words could be exchanged, a flap of the tent was lifted and his lady mother was there.

All he could do was stare, unsure if this yet another dream. However, Osha lifted him off Shaggydog’s back and pushed him towards his mother. He could not help but hang back, unsure of what to do. He had never thought to see his mother again.

Then Catelyn knelt on her knees, her hands reaching out towards him and said, “Rickon, my boy. My little boy. We have come home as promised.”

A sob wracked his small frame as he sprung forward and flung himself into her arms. His mother clutched him tightly to her and for the first time since she had left, Rickon felt safe.

Catetlyn rose with him in her arms and he rested his head on her shoulder. As she brought him inside the tent, he could see all of his siblings who had gone south. Sansa was sobbing whilst Arya beamed at him. Robb came over, patted his shoulder and kissed the top of his head.

His family had come home.


	5. Jon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commander Mormont allows Jon to head the Night's Watch delegation to the Court of the King in the North.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is it! Thank you so much for all your lovely comments and those who left kudos!
> 
> And, last but definitely not least, many thanks to @Jeeno2 for donating to charity and requesting general Stark fic.

The grey walls of Winterfell rose up across the misty moor and Jon drew his horse to a stop to look upon the sight for a moment. He had not thought this moment would come for a long time yet. Benjen had had to serve in the Night’s Watch for at least a decade before he was allowed to leave Castle Black in a southwards direction.

Then again, Benjen hadn’t been the bastard brother of a King.

Robb had been keen to bring Jon out of the Night’s Watch completely once he had returned to his kingdom, retaken and rebuilt his castle. Claimed that there was a place for Jon as his court as an advisor. But breaking his vows because Robb was a king who could pay a large ransom and send a hundred men in Jon’s place had not sat well with him.

He had taken his oath meaning to serve the rest of his life on the Wall and Jon did not have much more than his honour. Being bastard was a burden as men expected you to be dishonest and led by emotion. Jon was determined to show that his surname and circumstance of birth did not dictate how he lived his life. He was Ned Stark’s bastard and he would live up the legacy his father had left.

So he had refused Robb’s offer and saw the relief on Jeor Mormont’s face. This trip to Winterfell, ostensibly to meet with the King in the North and discuss how independence of the North would affect the Night’s Watch was really a reward for his loyalty and so he could see his newly reunited family. Everyone at the Wall had been aware of Jon’s jubilation at the victory of Robb in the War of the Five Kings and how overjoyed he’d been when all his siblings had returned home to Winterfell, even Bran and Rickon who had been reported dead.

Jon split off from his party, who were going to ride into the main gate, the South Gate, but Jon wanted to enter from the North Gate. It had always been his favourite, opening close to the godswood and the glass gardens. Dismounting and handing off his horse to Grenn, he walked through the gate, which gave him a vast amount of pleasure. He was back home and he savoured the familiarity of it. For a moment, he got to be part of the Winterfell family once more. His vows to the Night’s Watch faded into the background and he allowed the love for his home and his family to overwhelm him.

Snarling grey Direwolf banners hung from the towers and battlements proclaiming that this was a Stark castle once more and his heart swelled at the sight. The glass gardens were repaired and the godswood was as dominating as it always had been. A part of the old wild forest in the heart of Winterfell. Apart from scorch marks in one or two places, you could not tell that Ramsay Snow had torched the place.

Jon knew that the Bolton bastard’s head had been mounted above East Gate, facing the direction of the old Bolton lands, for over a moon. The Bolton line had ended with his treachery in Winterfell and Roose Bolton’s planned treachery with the Lannisters and Freys. Robb had razed the Dreadfort to the ground and a new castle was being built ten leagues away from the site, ready for Bran to hold as a new cadet house. There had been little mourning for House Bolton in the North once the depth of their depravity had been revealed. Many sons of the North would have been slaughtered to further their and the Lannister cause. The North did not forget easily.

\---------

It was tempting for Jon to slip into the Great Keep rather than head over to the stables, but he was no longer part of the family. Ceremony had to be upheld as he was a representative of the Night’s Watch coming to the court of the Winter King. So he waited with as much patience as he could muster as the rest of his party dismounted and readied themselves for an audience with the King.

Then, finally, they were moving, and anticipation at seeing Robb and his siblings mounted.

“Jon!” A small voice cried as they crossed the main courtyard towards the Great Hall.

He turned and there stood Arya, only slightly smaller than when she had ridden away to King’s Landing with Father. Tears filled his eyes as he drank in the sight of her and then before he could react and answer her, she was a blur and his arms were full of a tangle of skinny limbs as she clung to him.

Lifting her up high, he held her tightly against him, buried his face in her mess of hair, and breathed, “Little sister!”

He felt rather than heard her sobs, how her body shook in his arms, her tears wet his neck, and her arms clung like limpets around his neck. Relief that she was okay and sheer joy at getting to see her again had him spinning her around like they were kids once more playing. 

Finally, he put her down and she smiled brilliantly up at him and said, “You came! Robb was not sure that you would be allowed.”

“Commander Mormont was generous in allowing me to travel to Winterfell.”

“As he should be,” she said with a scowl. “We deserve to see you! The others are going to be so excited you’re here!”

Fondness for how fierce Arya could be flooded his body and she tucked her little hand in his and began to drag him towards the Hall where Robb and the others no doubt would be waiting. Turning his head towards his party, he gestured for them to follow.

Little had changed in the Great Hall and Jon half expected to look up at the High Table and see Father sitting there. Sadness that their father would never sit there again filled him. But he could not dwell on that hurt for too long because Robb sat there. His brother, who had always shone so brightly, seemed almost blinding now. Yet none of the old insecurities filled Jon’s chest. Now, there was nothing but delight at seeing his brother, iron crown resting atop his auburn curls, sitting over his court in a stately manner that was hard to reconcile with his memories of a boy who he would pull pranks with.

Sittting alongside him were Sansa, Bran and Rickon and he was just about able to hold his tears in at seeing them all. Even Lady Stark, who refused to be called the Queen Mother, looked vaguely happy to see him and nodded gracefully in his direction.

Then Robb’s grin broke out and he rose, coming down towards Jon and hauling him into a hug.

“Black really is your colour,” he said, as they broke apart.

“And kingship suits you.”

“You are sure I cannot convince you to return?”

“No,” Jon said firmly. “My place is at the Wall.”

“Sons of House Stark have always manned the Wall,” Robb said with an understanding nod.

“I am no Stark,” Jon said, ignoring the pang of pain at his words.

“You are a Stark to me,” his brother said simply. “And there will always be a place for you at Winterfell.”


End file.
